


In War, Duty; In Peace, Quiet

by AceQueenKing



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Cunnilingus, Everybody Lives, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2016-11-01
Packaged: 2018-08-28 11:32:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8444188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceQueenKing/pseuds/AceQueenKing
Summary: “Why do you want this?” He asked, his hand so tight on her waist that he thought for sure she would complain of him. “I am not a man owed any favors to you, and if this is pity, or mere – ““It is not pity, nor a return of a non-existent favor.” Her mouth twisted in amusement. “It is because I fancy you, you silly man. And as you well know, the life of a Warden seems, at best, bloody unpredictable. I hope you shall not judge me too strongly for seeking to take my pleasure where I can find it, with a man I find attractive.”





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [buhnebeest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/buhnebeest/gifts).



> I wanted to finish this for you for Black Emporium, but sadly ran out of time before I was able to finish it. I hope you will accept it as a birthday gift instead. You have been a wonderful co-mod and a great friend, and I hope you enjoy. :)

Duncan didn't know what he was doing here.

He stared as he sat on one of the beds in Denerim's royal chambers. He'd been invited – as had Lady Cousland – to stay in Denerim's castle for the night. While normally he would have eschewed such generosity as unbecoming of a Warden, after the fight they'd had – and the arch demon slain – he couldn't help but feel that he'd earned some respite.

He flopped onto the bed, a conduct unbecoming of a warden of his stature yet one he did not stop himself from doing. He was tired, bone tired. He desired nothing so much as sleep, yet his devotion to his duty kept him stubbornly awake, even as he sunk into the feathery bed that was a damn feel better than the dungeon Howe had been keeping him in for most of Loghain's mad war. It had been a miracle he had survived it, but he had. And – 

He wasn't sure where they would go from here. He would go back to Weishaupt, he was sure of that. Alistair, the good lad that he was, would no doubt come with. Morrigan, he suspected, would be gone before morning in the way of all apostates; likely the same fate would befall the bard, though he did not think her magically inclined. She had seemed a woman who had lived by staying out of sight. The lumbering golem likely would not remain either, nor the stern qunari who had already spoke of about going back to Par Vollen. Zevran would likely go after his crow friends, and he knew Wynne well enough to know that she would go back to her students. And _maker_ , he hoped that Oghrain wouldn't decide he'd wanted to become a warden – he'd gotten sick of the smell of the dwarf, camped out for two weeks in his tent with him. Maker help them all if the Warden's joining took him. 

That left only their able Lady Cousland – surprisingly the leader in his absence. He had recruited her in emergency, but the girl had made mince of warriors twice her size – and dark spawn easily triple it. She was truly a Cousland, with a battle-maiden's sense beyond any reckoning, one that had only improved after her inauguration into the Warden's ranks. She had a wise head on her shoulders aside; had he found her in his youth, he had little doubt he would be head over heals for so competent a woman. 

He was torn in his desires for her; on one hand, he wished her to remain with the Wardens. He enjoyed her company greatly, and he knew Alistair was also fond. But on the other hand, he was acutely aware of what a sacrifice it would be for her: Highover was without ruler, at present, and the loyalties in such a clan went deep.

He had just decided to ask her in the morning and allow himself the brief pleasure of sleep when the door to his room opened, and the woman herself walked in. 

He watched her as moonlight highlighted her features; an aristocratic face, pale-skinned with honey-blonde hair. She looked as if she had some great portent on her mind, and he sat up primly as she move toward him, taking a seat on the side of his bed.

“Lady Cousland,” he said, rubbing his beard to make sure he was presentable for the lady. “Can I help you?”

“I should duly hope, ser.” She leaned forward. “The night grows old, and I am wondering if perhaps we might spend it together.”

It was a bawdy thing to say, but Lady Cousland held her head up high, and he wondered if perhaps he had simply misunderstood her intentions. Surely she had not come to sleep with – 

Her hand folded his own, interrupting his thoughts. “Lady Cousland, if your chambers have proved insufficient, I should be happy to give you mine – “

There was a slight stutter in his voice, but she seemed not to hear it, her hand squeezing his own. She leaned forward, her body now distracting close to his. 

“I am twice your age – “He began, his voice rising slightly. He was not exactly panicked, but he could feel his heart rising in agitation, his palms sweating uselessly at his side. He wiped one furtively against his nightshirt as her own hand pressed a fervent trail from his shoulder to his hand. 

“And more experienced.” She whispered, her voice a good deal more debauched. She was close enough now that he could smell the scent of her; she smelled of honey, but there was no scent of ale upon her. She was not cloudy-headed, then. He had wondered if, perhaps, she had fancied him – he had caught her looking to him from to time, when they were in the saddle, but such things were easily explained as looking for leadership in uncertain times.

This – her hand on his chest, warm and distractingly pleasurable, was something else entirely. 

“I am a warden, as are you – “

“And we are freethinking adults too, Ser,” She said softly, before pressing her lips to his cheek. His hand tightened around her waist. He allowed himself to loosen his restraint for one moment, his hand feeling the silk of her dress, before retreating back to logic. He was not entirely unopposed to this course of action, but – he did not wish her to feel _obligated_ to such things. He had suspected she had when she had climbed into his bed chambers at Highover, and he should not wish her to feel such...obligation. 

“I was your – it would not be right, I outrank you – “He stuttered. His ability to withstand her was falling, behind her lovely eyes, which crinkled as she smiled in response. 

“I should think after defeating the arch-dragon, that I should outrank you, Ser.” She grinned, a surprisingly carnal grin for so prim a lady, and pressed a kiss to his lips. He did not push her away, and instead closed his eyes and leaned into the embrace. Her lips were soft, silky, and tasted sweet. 

“That..may be true, but still.” He was well aware that his response was lackluster, but he could think of nothing to say beyond it. 

“I love your devotion to duty, ser.” She said, her lashes fluttering against his skin in a distractingly soothing way. “But tonight is not a night for sacrifice.”

“I – I - “ She pressed a kiss against his brow, then delved lower, her soft lips tracing a firey path from mouth to neck. 

“Shh,” she smirked. “Do you know how long I've wanted you, Duncan?”

“You tried to,” he gasped – his thoughts interrupted as she nibbled upon his ear. “Seduce me. Your father – “

“Always knew I had a thing for older men.” 

“Why do you want this?” He asked, his hand so tight on her waist that he thought for sure she would complain of him. Her dress had slipped lower from his tugging on the silk gathered in his fingers, revealing the tips of her creamy bosom. He did his best not to leer. 

She leaned up a bit. “Do you seriously want me to stop?” 

“I wish to know your intentions.” He pulled his weight upwards, half-turned toward her to look into her eyes. They were as bright blue as a morning on Nevarra's skies. “I am not a man owed any favors to you, and if this is pity, or mere – “

“It is not pity, nor a return of a non-existent favor.” Her mouth twisted in amusement. “It is because I fancy you, you silly man. And as you well know, the life of a Warden seems, at best, _bloody unpredictable_. I hope you shall not judge me too strongly for seeking to take my pleasure where I can find it, with a man I find attractive.” 

He was stunned into silence at that, and they both sat there, both reflecting on her words. Finally, he said, “It has been many years, my lady. I am not sure if I still remember how to please a woman.”

“Than I shall have to help you remember,” she said, brazenly straddling him. 

He wasted no time voicing objects after that; they communicated less in words and more in actions. She untied the corset that had kept her dress bound, and he pulled it down, revealing fully the pleasingly pale and creamy skin beneath. His tongue found her nipple cleanly, and though it had been many years since he'd been with a woman, he felt satisfaction in the hitch in her breath as he flicked his tongue against it. 

“Oh yes,” she murmured; her hands wrapped around him, her fingers tracing their way through his hair. He concentrated on her mouth, listening to the softness of her moans, measuring the tightness of her fingers. He was focused on nothing but giving her pleasure. 

She whined softly against him, her long hair falling more unkempt around her shoulders as she wiggled in his grasp. After a few moments, she pulled away, pushing him down onto the bed. 

“Get your drawers off,” she panted, her voice no longer so ladylike. 

He was glad to obey, in this respect. The tenting between his sleep drawers had grown painful. He was not surprised that she all but ripped the end of her dress off, flinging it to the corner of the room before returning to him. He caught her in his arms, held her gently against him as he pressed a fervent kiss into her arms. 

She wasted little time on the pre-amble; as usual, Lady Cousland was a woman for action. But he still found his way to memorize the pleasing corners to her body, the softness of her within his arms. He roamed throughout her curves, his arms committing to memory her scars, her freckles. She tasted of honey, and wheat, and the bright sun shining on a field, and she tasted of nothing so much as peace.

He found the taste enticing. He should like to taste her, and turned them around, flipping it so she was on the bottom of him.

“Whatever are you on about, Duncan?”

He did not answer right away, his heavy lips tracing a hot pattern down her breasts, her belly, and lower. He did not dare to look up at her until he reached her netherlips, pleasingly puckered and wet with tempting fluids.

“Oh,” she said, softly, her breath tight with want. “Please.”

She let her legs fall further from her body, and Duncan needed no further introduction. “Apologies if my beard should be scratchy, my lady.”

“I shall – oh!” Whatever remark she had disappeared into a moan as he pressed a long kiss down her slit. Her thighs tightened slightly around his head, encouraging him to go on, but he needed little introduction.

He pressed his face into her cunt hungrily, happily lapping at her liquids. She was warm and tasted, unsurprisingly, salty-sweet. He was hungry, insatiable for the taste of her, and dove his tongue into her tight cunt, his tongue running hungrily down her walls, before flickering at her entrance.

“Duncan!” She panted; he lightened his tension, flickering lightly against the sex-slick walls of her cunt. He dared to very lightly tap at the tight button on the tip of her vagina, and her fingers gripped tightly, begging at him.

He lost count of the amount of times her fingers tightened on his head, begging for release, and he was all too happy to give it to her, his tongue all but dancing across her cunt. He ignored the throb of his own cock, only squeezing it once in hand to distract him from the pleasure of her. 

He pressed on longer, harder, then softer; his strokes were varied, his hands tight against her body. Her legs were all but a vice-grip on him, keeping him trapped in her heavenly scent, until all he could taste, all he could see was her honey.

He was insatiable.

He broke her, slowly. So slowly he hadn't even been aware how close she was to release until her spine bowed out with a soft wail. He hungrily trailed at her lips, licking up the sweet remains of her orgasm, as she flopped down on the pillow.

He climbed up next to her; though he could tell she was as tired as him, she wasted little time in finding his cock with her hands. He pressed a hungry kiss to her mouth as she pumped him, slick and slow but sure, and he found himself succumbing to her whiles in surprisingly little time.

“Ah,” she said, her face a bright pink.

“I normally last a bit longer, but – “He blushed, though he doubted she could see it in the low lighting of the room. “I am quite tired, and it has been many years and – “

“Shh.” She threw an arm around him, her warmth of welcome comfort in the luxurious bed. “There will be plenty of time to test that in the morning.”

“Indeed, my lady.” He murmured, pressing a final kiss to her brow.

He fell asleep quickly. His dreams were of wheat and honey, and he dared, for the first time in a long time, to dream of peace.


End file.
